Eye of the Beholder
by Live.Laugh.Love.Listen.Music
Summary: Elrond Peredhel ponders his fair city of Imladris, and the only thing that could possibly eclipse it; the fair Lady Celebrian.


Nestled in a steep valley, hidden from prying eyes by wards, steep cliffs and the great backbone of the Misty Mountains, enveloped by the muffled roar of cascading water, the Last Homely House east of the sea stood, resplendent against a glorious sunrise over snowy peaks. In the tongue of elves it was Imladris; to the Dwarves it was Nâladuran; in common it was simply Rivendell.

To the far west lay the Kingdoms of Eriador and Lindon; to the north-east the great Dúnedain kingdom of Arnor, magnificent in the glory of its youth. To the east ran the Mist Mountains, peak upon snow-capped peak running south towards Gondor and the plains of Calenardhon. Further east, over the spine of the mountains, was Greenwood the Great and the great land of Rhovänion, home to a great many peoples.

Middle Earth was wondrous indeed, pondered the elf that stood on one of Rivendell's many terraces. His dark hair was braided and held back by a circlet of twisted mithril. Dark blue robes clothed him; a grey mantle hung from his shoulders. Strands of gold embroidered into the rich fabric caught the light of the rising sun. Lord Elrond gazed out over his valley, and smiled.

It is said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and beauty is what the eyes of Elrond saw. Though those of Lothlorien might praise the gold and silver of the Mallorn in the spring; though the Silvan and Sindar of the Greenwood might sing about the light that filtered through the thick canopy to refract off the multitude of streams; though the Dwarves might boast the veins of gold and gem that flowed through the Lonely Mountain like rivers, Imladris was the fairest realm to the eyes of its Lord.

Yet though Rivendell was fair indeed to the Peredhel Lord, there was in existence one being that could eclipse it. Elrond was aware of her presence the moment she stepped into the sunlight: the whisper of her dress as she walked, the brush of her slippers against the wooden floor, the almost imperceptible sound for her breathing. The light breeze murmured of her fairness, the trees twisted towards her light. Lady Celebrian. Lord Elrond fingers intertwined themselves, yet he knew his digits would rather link with the Lady's.

"Greetings, My Lord. I hope I am not disturbing your musings," Her voice was soft, trying not to be too impeding on the private thoughts of Imladris' Lord.

"Worry not, My Lady, I welcome your company," He replied, inwardly pleased at the smile that spread across the Lady's face was she joined him. She lightly placed her hands upon the balcony, gazing out over the Valley as he himself had done moments previously. . He himself now focused his attention upon her, attempting to stare discretely. Her hair was glorious, he thought. From a distance it seemed to be one flowing river of silver, restrained only by a band of thin mithril. Upon closer examination, however, it appeared that in amongst the silver lay strands of pure gold. Lord Elrond's linked fingers tightened around themselves. It would go against all things decent and lordly if he were to reach out and touch even one radiant strand.

"The vale is beautiful, My Lord," the Lady spoke, turning to bestow a smile upon him.

"But indeed not as beautiful as you, My Lady," Lord Elrond replied without thinking. His cheeks tinged pink in mortification, though one part of his flustered mind noticed the flush on Lady Celebrian's cheeks. Each time I think I have grown accustomed to her beauty, I notice something more, Lord Elrond thought.

"You are far too kind, My Lord," she murmured, for once not behaving more like a young maid experiencing first love than a grown lady. Lord Elrond liked that thought.

"I say nothing but the truth, My Lady," he protested, enjoying the flush on her cheeks.

"You have my thanks then, My Lord," she said, "and my farewell also. The middle hour approaches; I must meet with my Lady Mother." She curtsied, then departed the balcony, still pink-cheeked. Lord Elrond watched her until she faded from sight, wondering to himself if her reaction to his compliments could signify the possibility that she might share his attraction. That, he thought, would be wondrous indeed. Perhaps he should ask to walk the gardens in her company after the midday meal. Turning to look back over the spender that was his home, Lord Elrond began to map a route in his mind; plan conversations to participate in; smiles they could share.

He smiled to himself. The Lady Celebrian was wondrous indeed.


End file.
